By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,

Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.

TO ZANTE.

FAIR isle, that from the fairest of all flcwers,
Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
How many memories of what radiant hours
At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
How many scenes of what departed bliss!
How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
How many visions of a maiden that is

No more--no more upon thy verdant slopes! No more! Alas, that magical sad sound Transforming all! Thy charms shall please

no more,

Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,
Oh, hyacinthine isle! Oh, purple Zante!
Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"

EULALIE.

I DWELT alone

In a world of moan,

And my soul was a stagnant tide,

Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride,

Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.

Ah, less-less bright

The stars of the night

Than the eyes of the radiant girl;

And never a flake

That the vapor can make

With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unre

garded curl,-

Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl.

Now Doubt-now Pain

Come never again,

For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,

And all day long

Shines bright and strong,

Astarte within the sky,

While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her

matron eye,

While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her

violet eye.